Feelings and Firewhisky
by fanohermione
Summary: "Um, hey, Hermione."  He clears his throat.  My voice is gone, I can't say a thing.  "How…uh, how've you been?"  How have I been?  Sad. Alone. Desperate. Heartbroken.  I open my mouth to say anything but those words...
1. New Places, Old Feelings

**A/N: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I intend on making any profit from this story. Also, I'm an American writer attempting to impersonate British slang. I'm not very good at it; please disregard anything that sounds a bit weird. Enjoy!**

I take a deep breath and look around the flat. My flat. It's new and arranged and yet, not quite full. It has plenty of furniture and there's art spattering the walls. It has all of the essential cutlery and appliances, both Muggle and magical. But it still seems empty. It's still...lacking.

My mother left ten minutes ago and I sit in the silence on my new sofa and it feels odd. There must be something I've forgotten. There must be something that's missing. I pretend I don't know what it is and flick on the telly and mindlessly stare at it. It's a show about cooking and the 'magic' of garlic and if you add just a bit of salt, your creation will please your guests. And it's about how Ron loves garlic more than chocolate but nobody knows but me and his mum, who used to secretly feed him bread dipped in garlic butter before meals. And that if I just kept a bit of garlic in a jar in the kitchen he'll always wonder what I'm cooking for dinner. And how it was always so exciting because he made it that way.

And then I realize that I'm watching him in my mind and not on the telly and I shut it off. I slide my palms along the velvety fabric of the couch and silently thank my mum for stepping in just at the right moment. She's always tried to let me choose my own things. My own clothes and books. What color I wanted my room painted when we had the addition added to our home. But this last week she's been making my decisions for me. The decisions I wish I never had to make. Such as, do I keep the Chudley Cannons t-shirt that I slept in most nights because it's soft from so many washes? Do I put away the photographs from my childhood because he's in them? How do I organize my things so they don't remind me of the flat we shared before? She must have sensed my reluctance to be assertive because all day it was: "this couch should obviously go here under the window," and, "darling, if you insist on this many shelves, then you must devote a room to them, you can't just let them take over your entire flat!" And I let her because if she asked me what I wanted I would have told her that I don't care. To just put it anywhere it fits. To just get it over with.

My first night in the new flat I dreamt that I was running through a mansion, although I couldn't quite run fast enough. And something was chasing me up the endless flights of stairs and I knew that I wasn't going to make it much longer. It was an awful feeling, knowing that you'll be captured. I didn't dare look behind me because I knew that if I saw the monster, it would get me. Then I saw a door outlined in bright light and I knew I had to reach it and I tried to run faster and I finally got to the door and pulled on the doorknob and it gave a little as if someone was trying to hold it closed from the opposite side. It was in that moment that I knew that I had been tricked and my fate lay in the monster's hands. And it was in that moment that I realized I didn't care.


	2. Deeper Roots

I float through my days at the Ministry, mostly keeping to my desk, every now and then smiling at a colleague when necessary. It's not that I feel unwelcome—quite the contrary, I was practically begged to take the job —I just feel so _off _at home that I just can't concentrate. The only other time I'd ever felt this distracted was sixth year, and it nearly ruined my educational career. But now I feel like I just can't shake it. Everything's out of sorts…

I always knew those long months on the run that we had little chance to survive. Harry was the most wanted man in all of Britain, and I was his known accomplice, and a Muggleborn at that! And when they found out that Ron wasn't sick at all, he'd be right up there with us at the top of the list. I thought Harry might make it pretty far, maybe even face Voldemort. But to get through it all, the three of us, to the very end and beyond, I could have never imagined that would be a reality.

And so I kissed Ron Weasley. Yes, I thought it was my last chance. It wasn't that I thought I'd never experience a real kiss if I didn't just pick a boy and snog the life out him. I loved Ron with every bit of me and I was terrified. I was scared that I'd never know what it was like to kiss him. To be close to him. I wasn't sure at that moment that he loved me like I loved him, but I didn't care because in my mind, I was dead anyway.

I have lunch with Ginny every Tuesday. She tries not to mention Ron and I can tell it's hard because he's very much in her life. She tells me stories about Harry and her and I know she leaves out the bits where Ron is there and he says something funny because I know she wants to tell the joke but she doesn't want to watch me try to hide the smile I feel creep up on me. I think she knows how much hurts me to pretend I don't mind that he kicked me out of his life. But I continue to feed Harry and her lies about how I'm better off this way, just like he told me I'd be.

Today, we had lunch at the Three Broomsticks, a place I try to avoid most of the time. The chance of running into Ron are too great there, and in all of Hogsmeade. But Ginny was short on time today and we both knew we could get in and out of there quickly. As we sip our butterbeers I describe my flat to her: the little kitchen, my new armchair that Crookshanks has already claimed as his own. And before I know it, lunch is over and she's promised to Floo over after work to have a 'real drink'. I head back to my office, half an hour early and think about getting out ahead of schedule tonight. I pass my neighbor's office and she calls out to me. _Great. _

"Hello, Cynthia, what's up?" I ask, hoping it's a quick question and not a lengthy conversation she has in mind.

"Hey, Hermione. I had a question for you," _Thank Merlin. _"Now, you don't have to answer, but…I was wondering if you were seeing anyone at the moment," I stare at her blankly. "I mean, you know, romantically."

_What did I do to deserve this?_ "Um, no. No I'm not. Why do you ask?" Cynthia and I are what I suppose you call friends. Although I'm not really sure because all of the real friendships I have are rooted in something so deep that I'm not sure Cynthia is allowed to fall in the same category. However, we have lunch together a couple times a week and we've gone for drinks once, so maybe in my reality she's an acquaintance.

"Well, I really don't mean to pry but I have a friend who I think would be just…great for you and I was, you know, wondering…"

"You're trying to set me up?" I ask, wanting to get to the point. She clears her throat, obviously trying to gauge whether or not I'm mad at her. "Let me think about it okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Of course. See ya," she calls as I'm leaving her office.

I sit at my desk and take a deep breath then flick my wand and the door shuts. The thought of dating someone has got my heart pounding. The image of kissing a handsome man after a lovely evening makes my head spin and I wonder if I'm going to see my lunch again. Never, before two minutes ago, had I even dreamed about seeing someone else. Maybe I've been thinking Ron will change his mind, or maybe I just know I'm meant to spend the rest of my days alone.


	3. Pretenders

The fireplace glows green for a moment before Ginny Weasley stumbles through and faceplants. I rush to help her up off the floor and brush away some of the soot that's darkening her orange hair.

"Bloody hell, Hermione! You trying to kill me?" Her face is covered in a dark film of soot and I can't help but laugh.

"I'm sorry!" I say. "I put up some security standards on my Floo and I guess I haven't really perfected it yet. I should have just had you Apparate. Here, come on through to the kitchen and we'll get you cleaned up. Oh, don't worry about the floor I'll get it in a minute."

I lead the way through my small flat to the kitchen where I help Ginny clean her face and clothes. After a small tour we sit in the living room and she pulls out a rather sizable bottle of Firewhisky.

"Don't look so frightened!" She laughs and pours two glasses. We cheers and it burns my tongue and throat and settles like a bluebell flame in my stomach. It hurts and feels wonderful simultaneously.

"So are you going to ask me? Or should I just tell you how he is?" Ginny asks, getting right into it. I cringe and mentally scold myself for being so transparent, but I don't say a word. "Well, you two have something in common at last! He's still trying to pretend that he's fine, like nothing ever happened, but he's complete shit at it, just like you are." What makes her think I want to hear this? I wish she would tell me that he's perfectly happy and he moved on quickly and there was no pain for him. Because I'm trying to convince myself that if it was all true then I could do it too, that it was remotely possible. "You know," she continues. "You could just go talk to him. He obviously misses you."

"Ginny, he left me! What am I supposed to do? Knock on his door and ask him if he wants me now? If I've changed to his liking? It wasn't good enough for him. Or rather, he wasn't good enough for himself. Somehow, everyday, no matter how many times I told him, he never believed me. How much I love him, how brilliant and funny and _perfect_ he is. He always found something, some counter argument to prove how daft or in the way he was. I could never win." I pause to take the shot Ginny's poured and it fuels me. "Once he stopped pointing out his own flaws he turned on me. He told me I was throwing my life away. How stupid I was for being with a loser like him. And it became this awful thing." I stare at the empty mantle where all my photographs should be. "When he found those letters…Ginny, he snapped," I finish in a whisper.


	4. Wild Imagination

I lie in bed and let my imagination run wild. It's a bad habit I've not been trying hard to break. If I close my eyes I can pretend he's laying next to me, watching me fake sleeping. And I'm pretty sure he knows I'm not really sleeping because I'm positive he watches me real sleep too. So I grin and turn towards him and let him catch my lips. His mouth smiles against mine as I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him on top of me.

"Morning, love," he mumbles against my throat, his stubble scratching the skin of my collarbone, and it's a little uncomfortable but everything else is so very comforting that it barely registers. The weight of his body on mine feels so real that when my alarm sounds I don't get up to turn it off. Its ringing is ruining my imaginings but I hold on tight to his body until he fades away completely.

As my body gets up my heart sinks. I brush my teeth and scold myself for letting my imagination get the better of me. I'm never going to get over him if I keep doing this. _I don't want to get over him._ I just want things to be the way they were, at the beginning.

"_You really are beautiful, you know," Ron says, leaning on his elbow, staring at me from his side of the bed. The sun was setting and we had just made love._

"_Ron. I'm absolutely drenched in sweat. I can't possibly look good right now," I reply, blushing all the while. I know I'm not beautiful by many standards, but I like that Ron makes an effort to try to get me to think I am._

"_Well, I think you're stunning. Now come and join me for a shower so you have no more excuses." He scoops me up in his arms and I squeal and try to escape his grasp. He's having none of it and marches me over to the shower and shows me just how stunning he thinks I am._

The end of the work week was here and I didn't know what to do with myself. It would be my first weekend alone in the new flat. I could call Ginny but she's done so much for me and she deserves her time with Harry; somebody should get to be happy. My answer came to me when I saw Cynthia leaving her office as I passed.

"Oh, hey, Hermione! I'm glad I caught you, I was going to head to the pub, but I need a drinking buddy, you free?" I can tell she's adamant about my joining her so I just say yes.

Despite my resolute pleas _not _to go to The Leaky Cauldron, somehow that's where we end up. At the very least I've managed to get her to agree to a dark booth in the corner. She orders us two Firewhiskys, then two more almost immediately.

"Okay, now that we're warmed up, I'm going to be blunt. What's your deal?" She asks looking me dead in the eye. I scoot back a bit.

"What do you m—,"

"You know what I mean. Your relationship with Ron Weasley wasn't exactly a secret, Hermione. You're both heroes, the entire Wizarding World knows who you are. So everything's fine and dandy, then what?" She says, taking her shot and motioning for me to take mine.

"Then...nothing. I don't know. It didn't work out. We fought a lot…and I don't know," I half explain hoping it's enough for no more questions. It wasn't.

"That's quite a few 'I don't know's, Hermione. I mean if you don't want to tell me that's fine, I know we're not best friends or whatever. I just can tell that you're just so…sad. All the time," I try to protest and she holds up her hand. "Look, I just think that the friends and family that you turn to are probably way too close to the situation, too on-both-sides, if that makes sense, to really help you through whatever this is," she's finished her speech and I don't know what to say. However, she is right. Ginny is Ron's sister. Harry is Ron's best friend. My mum isn't much help, unless I want to hear a list of things and a variety of methods Ron can use to shove them up his arse. So I take a breath, take a shot and prepare to relive what would turn out to be the worst day of my life.


	5. Locking Up Shop

I lock up the shop and head upstairs to the flat. It's late, probably past midnight. The lights are all dimmed and I assume Ron's gone to bed.

"Hermione," I can tell he's drunk without even seeing him. I switch on the lights and see him glaring at me from an armchair by the fireplace. I cross the room and lean in to kiss him but he stops me. "What are these?" He asks in an accusing tone shoving a handful of papers in my face.

"How much have you had to drink?"

"Answer me, Hermione. What are these? And why are you hiding them from me? Did you think I wouldn't find out? You think you can just hide them away in your drawers and dumb old Ron Weasley would never find them?"

"Ron, I wasn't hiding them from you! And why are you going through my things?" I demand, my face burning.

"That's not what matters, Hermione! Don't tell me you didn't put those there in the hopes I wouldn't stumble across them!" He's shouting now and I step back. "Look how many there are! Look!" He throws the papers at me and I flinch away from him, tears beginning to stream down my face. I stare incredulously at him as the job offers float down to the floor.

"Ron! What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me why the fuck you've been keeping this from me and why you're _clearly_ not doing anything about them! How could you be so daft? What's made you think that this is the life for you?"

"You, Ron! You're the life I _want_! I didn't respond to those letters because I don't want it to screw up what we're building! I want time to just be with you! I don't want to ruin this!" I cry, begging him to see sense.

"Well, Hermione, this," he says gesturing between the two of us, "isn't the life I want. You're not the girl I should have." He turns from me and the silence grows deeper.

"What kind of girl do you want?" I whisper. I'm shaking all over, terrified of his answer. But he doesn't answer. He just stands there with his back to me. "What kind, Ron?" I ask louder. "You want some dippy bimbo blonde with nothing going for her so you can't ruin it?" I spit with sarcasm dripping from every word.

"Yeah, Hermione. That's exactly what I want." He spins around to glare at me and I'm scared because I thought I knew. I thought I knew just how much he loved me and wanted me. But the way he's looking at me now speaks nothing of that. "I want someone who's not going to throw their life away for some _loser_ without a clue. And you know what? If you don't do it for yourself, I'll do it for you." He pulls out his wand. "Get out. This stops here."

"Ron, why are you doing this? Let's just talk about it the morning, okay? When your head's on straight." I'm pleading with him, my hands on his cheeks. He pushes them away.

"My head's straighter now than it's ever been. I should have never forced you into this. Now leave and get on with your life. It will be so much better without me in it." He pushes past me and I can hear the clinking of glass in the kitchen where he's surely having another drink. How could my life be anything but worse without him?

"You're not making sense, Ron! What have you forced me into?" I follow him into the kitchen.

"This. Us. You couldn't have Harry Potter so you went for the next closest thing. And I let you. You've regretted kissing me from the second it happened—,"

"Don't you _dare _tell me how I feel!" I scream at him. "What do I have to do to prove that I love you? That I've wanted you since _third year_! Tell me what you want me to say to get it through your thick skull. I. Don't. Want. Harry!"

"Just get out, Hermione. I promise everything will be better from now on." I realize that it's as if Ron's wearing the Horcrux all over again. The alcohol has taken over his mind. He's inconsolable and irrational and I'm apparently the last person in the world who can make him see sense.

"I like things the way they are now! I love _you_! I don't want this to-,"

"Now, Hermione." His face is dead serious and his wand is trained on me. Suddenly, I know what he's going to do. I began to panic.

"Please, Ron. Don't do this! I'll take a job, any one of them! Please don't! You can't undo it, Ron!" Everything is moving in fast-motion.

"I know what I'm doing. Goodbye, Hermione." And he did it. With a flick of his wand I was forcefully Disapparated out of the flat and out of his life. For good.


	6. Attached

Cynthia stares at me for a moment before placing her hand over mine.

"What did he do? What was the spell?" She asks in a quiet voice.

"Well, it was really a counter spell. When George gave Ron the flat above the shop, Ron and I applied a security spell. The two of us had strict access to the flat. We determined who could come onto the property. And the spell wasn't ever meant to be undone. The removal of either of us from the security restriction would result in that person's ban from the surrounding area. That restriction directly applied to any person still under the protection of the spell. So when Ron banned me…I wasn't able to go anywhere near the flat or him."

"Did he ever try to contact you? You know, when he was thinking straight?"

"No. I'm not sure that he'd be able to. The spell was relatively new. I don't know if he would be able to initiate contact with me or allow me in the flat, or if the spell keeps him away from me as well. I'm not even sure how long it lasts. It was mostly experimental."

"So how long has it been? Since you saw him last." She asks ordering another round.

"It's been about a year. I moved back to my parents' house for a while, trying to get the whole job situation worked out. I just found my flat. I've only been there about a week." Our shots arrive and we don't hesitate. Along with a solid burning in my chest, the alcohol is making my head feel lighter, as if it weren't attached to my body it might just float away.

"So…why was he so pissed about you not taking a job?"

"I guess he thought he was holding me down by being my boyfriend. Honestly, he's always had issues with self-esteem. It was hard being Harry Potter's best friend and I'm sure he felt the same way with his family. But with me…I just didn't get it." I sigh; It feels good talking to Cynthia about this whole thing.

"And he thought you and Harry…" she trails off.

"Yeah." I look into my shot glass, swirling the liquid around, feeling guilty for some reason. Ron's accusations always made me feel…dirty somehow. "He thought I was in love with him, which made absolutely no sense to me, or Harry for that matter."

"He's obviously extremely jealous of Harry."

"Yeah, it's always been someone. I thought, over the years, that I had made it pretty clear that I wanted him. And finally I practically threw myself at him. I don't what else I could have done."

"Well, if I may offer a bit of advice…" She hesitates and I motion for her to continue. "I think it would be healthy for you to see other people." She says tentatively. "I know you still have feelings for Ron but you can't just sit around and wait for him to realize what he's missing! And like I said I have a friend who I think might be good for you."

"I don't mean to be rude, but I don't want anybody else."

"Look, I'm not asking you run off and marry the guy! Just go out on a date with Jonathon. One date. It will be good for you to see what other guys are like. He's my age, so he's about five years older than you. He's really mature, got a solid job at the 'Prophet'—,"

I wasn't listening anymore. A group of five or six people had just come through the door. Among them is Ron. The shock of seeing him for the first time in a year is making my head spin in a way I'm sure has nothing to do with alcohol. He looks absolutely amazing. He looks confident. Happy. He looks…attached to a woman with long brown hair and a beautiful smile.

"Hermione? Oh. Shit. Okay. I'll just grab the check…"

"No. No, its okay." My stomach is tightening with anxiety as I watch Ron pull the woman close to say something in her ear. Whatever part of me that thought I could handle this runs for the hills. "Actually, yeah. Let's go." We take our last shots and Cynthia pays the bill, refusing my half-hearted offer to take care of this one. As I stand the movement makes me realize just how much I've had to drink. I grab the table to steady myself before Cynthia takes my arm. _Please don't let him see me. Please don't see me. _I have no idea what to say or what not to say. And with the help of the Firewhisky I'm sure whatever comes out of my mouth will fall under the what-not-to-say category.

"I don't want to see him," I whisper in Cynthia's ear as she leads me towards the door through the crowded bar. She gives me a nod and pulls on my arm a little more forcefully. With her guiding me I'm free to look around and try to pinpoint his position. And when I find him he's looking directly at me. He looks confused and scared. And then he's on the move and my heart starts pounding and my breathing picks up and all I want to do is get out of here as fast as possible before—

"Hermione!" I stop even though I know I should keep moving and my arm slips out of Cynthia's grasp. However, I don't turn around. I'm hoping it's not real. That he's not really behind me right now. It's strange because this entire year I've been dreaming about seeing him again and imagining all the things I would say. All the things I'd do. But the moment's here now and I feel nothing but terrified.

Suddenly, his face is right up close to mine and my heart hurts so bad that I don't think I can stand, let alone breathe, any longer.

"Um, hey, Hermione." He clears his throat. My voice is gone, I can't say a thing. "How…uh, how've you been?" How have I been? Sad. Alone. Desperate. Heartbroken. I open my mouth to say anything but those words and Cynthia comes to my rescue.

"Hi! I'm Cynthia," she holds out her hand and Ron apprehensively takes it. "Hermione's friend. Don't mean to be rude but we we're actually just leaving. Nice to meet you!" She takes hold of my arm again and I'm led away, my eyes locked with Ron's the whole way out. Right before we reach the safety of the back alley the brunette appears at Ron's side and pulls him in for a kiss. He doesn't resist, but his eyes are trained on mine as he kisses her.

The cool air outside stings my burning lungs. Cynthia's looking at me like I might explode at any moment.

"Let's get out of here please." I manage to say.

"My place or yours?"

"Mine." She takes my arm, we Apparate into my living room and I rush for the bathroom and vomit.


	7. Mourning Heartbreaks

I open my eyes and immediately wish I hadn't. Why didn't I close the curtains before going to bed? Groping the bedside table, blindly searching for my wand, my fingers stumble across a glass. I reluctantly sit up, wondering what it is. On the table under the glass is a note.

_Hermione,_

_ I found some Sober-Up in your bathroom. I figured you could probably use it this morning. _

_ Sorry again about last night. You were right; we shouldn't have gone to the Leaky. _

_ Anyways, hope you feel better. See you Monday._

_ -Cynthia_

I gratefully gulp down the potion as flashes of last night appear in my mind. Groaning loudly, I flop back down into my pillows. The potion takes effect almost instantly and the fuzz begins to disperse from my brain.

I must have looked so foolish, gulping like a fish out of water in front of him. Before I have time to mentally berate myself, Harry's voice calls my name from the living room. I sigh and drag myself out of bed, throw on a nightgown and pad out of the bedroom to find Harry standing awkwardly in my living room.

"Hi, Harry." I cross over to him and I can almost feel some of the tension in his muscles seeping out as he hugs me. "What's wrong?" I ask when we part, motioning for him to sit on the sofa.

"Nothing's wrong." He answers before accepting the stern look on my face. "Okay, fine. I just came to see how you are," he pauses. "Ron told me you guys ran into each other last night." I quickly get up to make a pot of tea and give myself some time before I have to answer.

"Would you care for some tea?" I call from the kitchen.

"I'd love some," he calls back. "You haven't answered me. But considering you were still in bed at noon, I think I know the answer." He says following me into the kitchen and sitting down at the table.

"Is it really noon?" I spin to find the Muggle clock hanging on the wall. Yes, it is noon. I can't believe I slept in so late. I hand Harry his tea and drop into the chair next to him.

"So do you want to tell me what happened or should I tell you what Ron said?" He asks before sipping his tea, making a face and adding a considerable amount of sugar.

"Okay, fine. I was out for drinks with Cynthia and—"

"Yeah, who is this Cynthia?" Harry interrupts. "Ron said she was very…straight-forward."

"She's a colleague of mine. A friend from work. Anyways, we went for drinks at the Leaky and Ron showed up with his girlfriend or whatever." I mumble the last couple of words into my cup of tea.

"And did you talk to him?"

"Sort of. Well, not exactly. We were leaving and…. No, I didn't talk to him." I drop my head into my hands. "I just got so nervous!" I cry into my palms. Harry scoots his chair closer to mine so he can place a hand on my back and begin rubbing it in circles like he always has done when I'm upset.

"Hermione, he wants to see you." I pick my head up and stare open-mouthed at him.

"Why?" seems to be the only thing I can get out of my mouth.

"Because he misses you! What's wrong with you two? Why can't you just figure it out? You both make it _so hard_ to work out this problem!"

"It's not just a _problem_, Harry. I haven't seen him in a year! And when I finally do he's got his tongue down some woman's throat! Do you know how many times I tried to see him? Fifty-seven. Fifty-seven times I was Disapparted because I got too close to him or the flat. I don't know if you've ever experienced that but it's not exactly a pleasant sensation. So tell me why, all of the sudden, he misses me!"

"He's always missed you! Come on, Hermione, you don't honestly believe that he doesn't love you."

"I don't know anymore, Harry! He certainly seemed fine without me last night! You know Harry, maybe he was right all along. I _must_ be mad to continuously fawn over someone who breaks my heart all the bloody time!"

Harry is silent for a moment, as if he's mourning all of the hours of sleep he lost to my heartbreaks.

"He's better now," he says softly. "He hardly drinks. Ginny and I had a sit-down with him and he took it pretty seriously…"

"I don't know, Harry. Things were really good at first; he would only drink if I did. And we just had _so much_ fun…"

"_To you, Hermione!" Ron raises his glass and clinks it to mine. "For being the best, brightest, bravest, most beautiful, and all of the other wonderful things that start with the letter B!" We laugh together and down the Firewhisky._

"_Well, I think that __**you're**__ the best, so here's to __**you**__!"_

"_Will you two give it break!"_

"_Yes, please before I vomit all over your carpet."_

_I turn to see Harry and Ginny standing by the Floo and I rush over to greet them. After hugs we all migrate toward the living room._

"_I like what you've done to the place," Ginny says looking at the photographs on one of my bookshelves. "It was quite a mess when George and Fred lived up here. I still can't believe George is letting you stay here."_

"_I really can't believe it either, I mean he pays us to work in the shop, we really didn't need anything else." I say as I get some extra glasses from the kitchen._

"_I couldn't very well let the most brilliant witch of all time organize my budget __**and**__ inventory for a mere hourly wage, now could I?"_

"_George!" A collection of voices rings out._

"_I'm so glad you could make it!" I say while I greet him with a hug._

"_Wouldn't miss it for the world. Now who's got the Fire?"_

_We laugh and tell stories until late in the night. And after many long goodbyes, everyone has gone. I stack the glasses and plates and levitate them into the kitchen sink. I stand watching the soapy water rise, submersing the dishes. Ron's arms encircle my waist and he places a kiss on the back of my neck._

"_You were a lovely hostess this evening. I think I could get quite comfortable living with you." He turns me around in his arms._

"_Oh, you think you can manage?" I joke playfully. But there's a seriousness to his gaze that sends shivers down my spine and before I know it his mouth is on mine and we're engaged in a battle that I really don't mind who wins. In fact, I quite hope he does._


	8. Dates, Departments, and Dresses

**A/N: Sorry for the wait for this chapter, I know I haven't been keeping up like I was at the beginning. But I'm hoping to make it up to you with what I feel is a longer chapter. And I won't ruin it, but there's a bit of Ron in this one, not just Ron but a little of Ron's POV as well. I apologize in advance, I'm not as comfortable with Ron as I am with Hermione, so if he seems…not right, just let me know what I can do to fix him.**

**Also, thank you SO much to everyone who has reviewed! It's really awesome to get feedback, please review even if you didn't like something I wrote in the story. I'm a new writer, I need the help!**

Harry leaves with one last, "just think about it, Hermione," and I find myself crawling back into bed to do just that. Grasping one of my pillows, I curl up into a ball.

"Crookshanks!" I call out into the empty apartment hoping for some company in the large bed. He comes sauntering in, jumps up on the bed and walks around in circles for a moment before coiling down against my stomach. I mindlessly pet him while I watch Ron laughing with the girl from the bar over and over in my head.

Why does he suddenly want to see me now? Obviously, it has everything to do with running into each other last night. But what can he possibly need to say to me all of the sudden that he couldn't say the over last _year_? And if I do meet him, what do I even say? None of the scenarios I had created in my mind involved Ron having a girlfriend. I have to reevaluate _everything_.

Will it hurt more to have him in my life as a friend or to not have him at all? I've loved him with my whole heart for so long that I don't know if I can go back to friendship. Lavender's face floats through my mind and every ounce of anxiety and pain I felt in those months briefly jolts through my body. I don't think I could put myself through that again, especially not now that I've had him for my own.

Crookshanks squawks at me, drawing my attention. I must have stopped petting him.

"What do you think I should do Crooks?" I sigh deeply. "Maybe I should go on a date with Cynthia's friend…it's pretty clear I'm not getting Ron back." I try to blink back the tears building behind my eyes, but one breaks the barrier and they all come rushing out and I pull Crookshanks closer to my body.

After what feels like an eternity, I pull myself together and with a decisive nod I summon a quill and some parchment.

_Cynthia,_

_Thank you for the Sober-Up, it was greatly appreciated. Please don't worry over last night; it wasn't your fault he showed up there. In any case, I was wondering if you could owl your friend and see if he's still up to the whole date thing. I suppose you can give him my owl address if he wants to set something up. Thanks again, see you Monday._

_-Hermione_

I reread the note over probably ten times before forcing myself to let my owl, Tyton, soar out of the window with it. I briefly allow the thought '_what am I getting myself into?' _ pass through my brain before suppressing it. I have to at least attempt to move on.

I spend the rest of my weekend meticulously cleaning my flat. Tyton returned Sunday morning with a letter from Cynthia saying she's glad I'm giving Jonathon a shot and that he should be contacting me shortly. After receiving the note I existed in a state of doubt. As I scrub down my apartment the Muggle way I'm plagued with questions. What if Ron wanted to see me to patch up our relationship? What if he would have declared his love for me and vowed to never leave me again? The angry part of my mind consistently reminds me that he's made that vow before, and clearly, didn't uphold it. But I can't keep myself from wondering, has he really changed like Harry says? Things could be different now. _They could be if he didn't have a girlfriend_, I bitterly remind myself.

I arrive at the Ministry on Monday morning and everything seems normal until I reach my Department and I can feel the eyes of my colleagues bearing into my skull as I pass through. I begin walking faster until I reach my office. Obviously something has happened that involves me and before I can even think on it, there's a knock on my door.

"Its Cynthia," a voice says immediately and I unlock the door. Cynthia slips through and quickly closes the door behind her.

"What's going on?" I ask her cautiously, not sure if I want to know the answer.

"You don't know?" she says glancing back at the door. "Ron has accepted the offer to train in the Auror program."

"Well, that's wonderful!" I say after a moment's hesitation. And I truly am happy for him but it takes a moment for me to realize that Ron working in the Auror Department means that I'll see him close to every day at the Ministry.

"So…that's what all of the staring is about out there?" I ask, praying I imagined it.

"I take it you didn't read _The Prophet_ today?" she says handing her copy of the paper to me.

_**War Heroes Reunited After Romantic Fallout**_

_The Auror Department has reached out many offers to the 'Golden Trio' to join after the Last War and all have since been declined. Harry Potter seems to be taking an extended vacation, while Hermione Granger has instead become a critical asset to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures._

_All the while, Ronald Weasley has held on tight to his position at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes until, as it appears, yesterday when he accepted the offer to join the Auror Program. There is not only great excitement in the Auror Department, but also within the witch Hermione Granger, who was seen out supposedly celebrating with Weasley at the Leaky Cauldron on Friday night. Has the romance finally rekindled? Have our heroes reignited their old flame? Will their proximity—"_

I push the paper away dropping my head into my hands.

"I can't believe I actually thought the media was over our relationship," I groan as my head falls with a thump onto my desk.

"So…you're okay with him joining the Department? Having to see him all the time?" Cynthia asks as she sits in the chair across from my desk.

"Well I don't have much of a choice, do I?" I ask into the desk. A knock on the door causes me to lift my head. Cynthia rises and opens the door, stands there for a moment then awkwardly leaves the room as Ron enters. I immediately straighten up and he coughs a bit, trying to clear the heavy silence that's settled in the last ten seconds. Swallowing deeply, I acknowledging the fact that there's nowhere I can run this time.

"Congratulations on joining the program, Ron, that's really great," I say with a forced smile pasted on my face.

"Thanks…," he looks down at his shuffling feet. "Can I sit?"

I avert my eyes and start shifting and stacking the papers on my desk.

"I'm actually quite bust at the moment, Ron."

"Well, will you have lunch with me?" He steps away from the door and every inch closer to my desk he gets, the temperature in the room rises. I briefly wonder if there's a glitch in the thermometer charm in my office. "I really need to talk to you, Hermione."

Just then an owl swoops in and drops a letter in my lap before snatching a treat from the bowl on my desk and jumping up onto Tyton's perch to munch on it. I glance at it and I don't recognize the handwriting neatly spelling out my name on the envelope.

"I've really got a ton of work to do here," I motion at the pile of-already completed, but he doesn't need to know that-assignments on my desk.

"Just say you'll see me for lunch today?" and before I can even say that I'll be working through lunch he adds, "or dinner tonight? Dinner will be better, you'll probably work during lunch, right?"

I sigh and rub my temples. He moves even closer and I find myself fighting the urge to back away and yet my body also seems to want him closer. Staying stationary in my chair will be the hardest task I tackle today.

"Fine." I say curtly, anything to get him out of my office before I go mad. A grin breaks free on his face and I think I might cry at the emotions and memories the sight of it erupts within me.

"Great! Meet me at the Broomsticks? 'Round seven?"

"Fine."

"Great! Okay, see you then!" He backs away, grinning at me and bumps into the door frame on his way out.

I sit for a moment and just breathe while my brain attempts to wrap itself around what just happened. I'll be seeing Ron for dinner. Tonight. I stand, meaning to start pacing the office when something falls to the floor. The letter. I study the handwriting again and I'm sure I don't recognize it. Who would send me an owl that I don't know? Anyone working in the Ministry would send a memo…

_Dear Hermione,_

_Cynthia let me know that you were up for a date, so I was wondering when you are available, maybe this weekend? I don't know if you're a Quidditch fan but I've got tickets to the Puddlemere United match this Saturday if you're interested. If not, we can do dinner or something of that sort. You can send your reply back with Gatsby, he'll wait for it._

_Hope to hear from you soon!_

_-Jonathon Pierce_

I stare at the parchment for a minute before pulling out a blank sheet and my quill and write my reply saying going to the match would be fun and asking for details. I send away the owl, Gatsby, and lean back in my chair. It's strange, the timing these things have.

I do end up working through lunch, just to keep my mind off meeting Ron tonight and my date on Saturday with Jonathon, I'm actually quite nervous about it. I'm glad he suggested going to the match because at least if it becomes awkward I can pretend to be extremely interested in the game.

It's 6:30 and I'm wrapped in a towel, standing in my bedroom having a staring contest with two dresses. Really, they're almost exactly the same: black, knee length, sleeveless. But here's the kicker, one is decidedly low-cut, the other quite reserved. Now, I've never been one to dress in anything other than modest clothing, unless it's for Ron. I can probably count every time I've worn a dress, with of course the exception of the Hogwarts skirt, and nearly every one of those dresses was to impress him. The Yule Ball, Bill and Fleur's Wedding, the grand re-opening of WWW. Yes, all of those occasions required special attire, but the particular dresses I chose…well, I chose them for him.

Now, my current situation still remains. This isn't that Ron anymore. This is a Ron I haven't seen in a year after he broke my heart (again) and who also has a girlfriend. So which dress do I wear?

-Ron's POV-

Shit. Shit. Shit. Bollocks, I'm late. I'm bloody late. Why do I have to be late to what's most likely my only chance to explain—no, grovel at her feet and beg forgiveness? My trousers don't seem to want to cooperate as I try to shove my feet through them, nearly falling over in the process. Finally, I manage to get myself properly dressed and with one last glance in the mirror I Apparate to the Three Broomsticks.

It's warm for March and I take a deep breath before opening the door to the pub. When I do, I find it's quite busy for a Monday and I receive a few slaps on the back and congratulations from people I don't really know, but I smile and give my thanks, pushing my way through until I see her. She's sitting alone at a booth under a window with a glass of red wine-a Muggle drink she's quite fond of, that they carry here at the Broomsticks—and she's wearing the most _wonderful_ dress. She's wringing her hands and biting her bottom lip and she's absolutely breath-taking. What a sodding git I am for ever letting her go.

"Hermione, I'm so sorry I'm late. I got caught up at the Department and I tried to leave but more people kept coming in and wanting to talk to me and—" she holds up a hand to silence me.

"Please, just sit, Ron."

So I do and I can't help but to glance down at the lovely expanse of skin her dress exposes before I draw my eyes to hers and she stares at me. For a long time. Then I realize that she's waiting for me to say something.

"You look amazing," I manage to spit out. And immediately her eyebrow shoots up and she gives me the look that says, 'Get to the point, Ronald.' So I clear my throat and try to think of how to word this. "Hermione, I've never regretted anything more than I regret that night. I've missed you so—"

"Try again, Ron. I think I've heard that before somewhere." She says sarcastically and I know that she's referring to the night I left the tent.

"Okay, I'm sorry! Look, I was being…_stupid_! I wasn't thinking straight! I let alcohol get to me and before you say anything, I'm not using that as an excuse! I'm just trying to explain as best I can." The waiter arrives and I order a butterbeer. I take a moment to just look at her: her hair is a bit longer and she's wearing it down, she still doesn't wear make-up, which I love, and there's something in her eyes that's different…it's a strange kind of maturity, a deep knowledge of, I don't know how else to put it but, sadness. Merlin, what have I done to her? "Okay, if you just give me a moment to explain, I don't expect you to forgive me but I at least want you to know why I behaved the way I did."

"Go ahead," she says as if she doesn't even care, but I know her better than that.

_The shop looks amazing, soon it will be completely packed and all of our hard work destroyed by the masses, I'm sure of it. I take the stairs up to the flat by three's and grab the doorknob, holding it until it turns warm against my palm allowing me to turn it._

"_Hermione!" I call into the flat. It still feels so strange, having my own flat, living with Hermione. I know we 'lived together' on the run but this is entirely different. This is Hermione and I having dinner together every night at our kitchen table. This is coming home to Hermione singing along to the wireless. This is Hermione Granger sleeping in my bed every night. This is paradise._

_I wander the small flat until I find her in the bathroom holding two dresses up against her body. She turns and spots me in the doorway, shrieks and slams the door in my face._

"_Bloody hell, Hermione! What was that for?"_

"_I'm sorry!" she calls from the other side of the door. "You're not supposed to see yet!" she groans, obviously upset I walked in on her little fashion show._

"_Well, if it helps, I liked the orange one," I offer, smirking on my side of the door. And suddenly, it opens to reveal a very sexy Hermione in a very sexy orange dress._

"_I was going to choose this one anyway," she says as she pushes past me._

"_Aw, come on, Hermione!" I follow her into the bedroom, coming up behind her and wrapping my arms around her waist. "You know I think you look gorgeous no matter what you wear." I place a kiss on her ear and gently pull her earlobe between my teeth. She exhales noisily._

"_Ron, we'll be late…" she pulls away and turns, planting a kiss on my lips before marching off into the living room. "Let's go down now so we can leave early," she raises her eyebrows suggestively._

"_Or let's stay here a bit and go later."_

"_Ron." She gives me a stern look and I know I've lost._

"_Okay, fine, let's go"_


	9. The Subtleties of Explanation

_The party is in full swing, students and their parents are roaming about the store as well as all of our friends and family. The place is packed with laughing adults and children and I'm sure Fred wouldn't have wanted it any other way._

"_Oi, Ron!" I turn to find Seamus and take his outstretched hand. "Great party! Really feels like the old days! How did you guys get the shop looking so good? I thought everything was destroyed."_

"_Yeah, well it took a lot of work," I answer as I sip my Firewhisky._

"_So, congrats, lad, you finally bagged Granger! Is it as great as it looks?" he asks wagging his eyebrows. I glance over my shoulder and spot her. She's helping some young kids sort through the spelling quills, no doubt helping them find the ones she charmed. I smile, typical._

"_Yeah, it's good, mate."_

"_Well, must be good for her too, she's here 'in she?" he laughs and clinks his glass to mine._

"_What d'you mean?"_

"_I mean, you must have her wrapped around your finger, or something else, ha!" he clinks my glass again. "Why else would __**Hermione Granger**__ be working at WWW? She's probably been offered the Ministry of Magic's position by now!" he laughs loudly, clearly amused with himself._

"_Yeah," I mumble as he leaves to follow Lavender who just walked by. I look over at Hermione who's now talking with Kingsley. I throw back the rest of the Firewhisky in my glass and find myself a refill. She must have been offered all sorts of positions. I know the three of us were offered training positions in the Auror Department, and it's almost funny because growing up I didn't want anything more, except maybe to play professional Quidditch, than to join the Department. But now I feel like I've had enough fighting bad guys for a lifetime._

_I don't know why I never assumed Hermione would be offered a ton of jobs, especially after we took our N.E.W.T.s. I mean, obviously, I bombed mine, and I'm not sure Harry did much better, but Hermione, she aced them. And I don't mean like she did better than Harry and I, I mean she got O's._

_I look over at her again, and it's as if I'm seeing her for the first time. Why __**is**__ she here? Why is she working at WWW when she could have any job she wants? Is it me? _

_I drain my drink, pour myself a new one, and find myself a stool that I can pull over into a dark corner. And then I sit here and watch her._

_I never really understood why she's stayed with me this whole time. And now it seems, not only am I holding her back from some good-looking, rich, perfect guy-someone like Harry-but I'm also holding her back from a career. What kind of selfish prat am I?_

_Every sip of Firewhisky I take makes me see clearer and clearer. My belly is warm and I finally see things for the way they are. Ronald Weasley, git of the decade, tricks the brightest witch of the age into complete career suicide._

"Ron. What you're telling me is that you tore apart our relationship because of something Seamus Finnigan said at a party?" She's looking at me like I'm an insane person.

"No! Hermione, what I'm trying to explain is just what I thought! I mean, can you really blame me for thinking that I was holding you back from a career that was _obviously_ waiting for you?" I ask getting a little upset.

"Yes! Yes, I can Ron, because you weren't holding me back! Did you honestly think I was planning on working at the Wheezes for the rest of my life? Of course I was going to take a job at the Ministry eventually! I just needed time to _breathe_ for one _bloody_ moment!" She throws her hands up in the air before realizing that she's close to shouting and she leans over the table. "Ron, I don't mean to sound harsh in any way, but our relationship wasn't going to hold me back from anything." She leans back in the booth and takes a sip of her wine.

"Well, I guess the point is, Hermione that whatever the reason, I'm so incredibly sorry for what I did that night. And I just want you back in my life, I'm miserable without you." I try to take her hand but she snatches it away.

"_You've_ been miserable? Oh, you poor thing! You're so miserable that it took you a _year _to try and see me? You didn't look so miserable on Friday night with your girlfriend!"

"Whoa, wait, Hermione. First of all, she's not my girlfriend. Second of—"

"Oh, please, Ronald! The least you can do is not lie to me. I saw pretty clearly that that woman is not just your friend."

"She is! I know she kissed me that night but that was it! I took her out to celebrate her promotion at WWW and she thought it was something more. Its not. And she knows that now. End of story." I feel like I might melt under Hermione's glare. I can tell she knows I'm telling the truth, but she doesn't like being wrong. "And I did try to see you nearly everyday, for a long time, Hermione." I let go of my defensive tone. "I couldn't get anywhere near you. Until this weekend at the pub."

-Hermione's POV-

The barrage of information and the sheer proximity of Ron have my head feeling fuzzy. I can't think. I can't focus. The woman is _not_ Ron's girlfriend. Ron does not have a girlfriend. Ron is sitting in front of me asking me to take him back. It's as if my fantasies have all come true, but the scars on my heart aren't healed yet.

"How do I know it would be any different?" I ask quietly after a long moment's silence. "It's been a long year, Ron."

"Hermione," he leans as close as he can over the table, but he doesn't try to take my hand again. "After I realized I couldn't get anywhere close to you, I spent every ounce of energy I had on setting myself straight. I've been working towards this Auror position for nearly six months, getting the shop organized and what not. Drinking heavily is not going to happen again. The only thing I can do to prove it to you is promise, and show you. But you have to give me a chance."

"You've made me promises before," my broken heart whispers more to myself than to Ron.

"Hermione, please," I look up at his strangled voice to see tears in his eyes. "Please give me a chance. I know I don't deserve it, after all I've put you through, but I want to make it up to you. We should be together…" he offers up as if there's no other way to explain. And the silly thing is, I understand.

"I have to think on it, Ron. I can't make this decision right now, it's too much."

"Okay," and he livens up a bit. "However much time you need."

I sip my wine and our dinner arrives and we eat in a silence that seems to grow friendlier and more comfortable by the second. How familiar this feels, how _right_. I want this back in my life.

"So, what are you doing this weekend?" Ron asks after swallowing a mouthful of chicken. "'Cuz I've got tickets to the Cannons-Puddlemere match and I was gonna take George, but you're much nicer to look at," he says grinning. "And I know you don't like Quidditch much but I thought it might be a good way for us to spend some time together, as friends, you know while you think about things…"

I open my mouth to respond before I suddenly remember my date with Jonathon. What team did he say we were going to see? Something United…how many Quidditch matches are there in a weekend? Now that I think on it I'm positive it was Puddlemere United. I clear my throat.

"Well, actually, I'm already going to that game," I shove some broccoli into my mouth gain some time before he asks—

"With who?"

"It's a date actually," I say after I finish chewing. "One of Cynthia's friends."

"You're going on a date?" I expected him to be angry but he actually looks quite put-down. I feel the urge to explain, even though I know I don't owe him an explanation.

"I agreed to it before I spoke with you today. She's been trying to get me to meet this guy for a while and after the other night…" I trail off, realizing I don't want to explain this at all, especially to Ron.

"Oh," he says simply. "So you've never met him before?"

"No."

"Alright," and just like that he continues to shovel food down his throat. I stare at him for a minute before thinking I shouldn't question it and I return my attention to my plate.

After dinner we stand outside in front of the alley that borders the Broomsticks. There's not too many people about, being a Monday night. It's wonderfully warm and I breathe in the spring air.

"It's a nice night," I say, eyes closed, taking in the rare weather. When I open them I find Ron staring at me with a look in his eyes that is all too familiar. He steps closer and I force myself to take a step backwards. It's no use, however, because he takes another step and grabs my hand. A warm wave surges in my abdomen as he stoops down, lowering his height to mine.

"Hermione," he breathes. "When will I see you again?" I gulp and my breathing picks up.

"I don't know," I manage to say.

"Soon I hope," he says before lowering his face to mine. I close my eyes and for a split second realize I'm not going to stop him. His lips find my cheek and linger there for a moment before he pulls away. "Apparate safely. See you 'round," he says and when I open my eyes he's smirking at me and then he's gone.

I stand there for a moment, just letting my heart rate reduce to a normal level, and I can't help but feel…disappointed. And I'm a little ashamed of myself for letting him have such power over me, but at the same time a make a mental note: See Ron Weasley again, as soon as possible.


	10. Puddlemere v Cannons

The week passes quickly; I spend most of my free time researching the security charm that's kept me from Ron this past year. The only helpful bit of information I come across is that it acts like a Muggle restraining order, and that it's possible a time limit could be in effect. I assume that was the case with Ron and I, considering it was almost exactly a year since that night. I'm so wound up in my research that I don't really have time to think about my date with Jonathon this Saturday until Cynthia pops in my office on Friday.

"So, Jonathon tells me you guys are heading to the Puddlemere match tomorrow," she closes my office door and leans against it.

"Yes, we are," I respond, immediately returning to my paperwork.

"I haven't seen Ron around. I take it your dinner didn't go so well?" She moves into the room and sits in the chair across from my desk.

"It was fine," I reply shortly. "I don't know why he hasn't been around. I mean, I haven't invited him to be around…and I'm sure he's incredibly busy training and what not…"

"Yeah, okay. Anyways, I was just checking in to see how you were. Wanna do lunch today?"

I agree and Cynthia leaves my office and it seems like the whole date situation is weighing down on me like never before. Puddlemere plays the Cannons on Saturday. Ron will be there.

It's Saturday morning and again I'm left with the decision of what to wear. I silently curse Hogwarts for not training me in fashion. I settle on a casual outfit consisting of jeans and a T-shirt—I couldn't help wearing a Cannons shirt, I figure they're the only Quidditch team I'll ever support, besides Gryffindor of course, and I'm not going to hide it now.

I arrive at our pre-determined location and find that Jonathon hasn't arrived yet. I find a bench nearby and sit and take in my surroundings, grasping my wand in my coat pocket. I barely have time to look around before a man appears in front of me.

"Hermione?" the man asks timidly.

"Yes," I reply standing. I awkwardly extend my hand. He takes it and introduces himself.

"Shall we head on in?"

As we make our way inside the stadium I realize just how massive it is and I'm instantly glad because I'd been worrying about running into Ron today. Jonathon leads me to what appears to be a private box, fitted with seats for approximately twenty people and we sit in two seats in the front. A waiter arrives and takes our drink order and Disapparates.

"This is lovely," I comment, motioning to the private seats. "How did you manage to get these tickets?"

"Oh, I've got season passes, I write for the _Prophet_ covering Quidditch matches."

"Oh, so…are you working right now then?"

He laughs, his shoulders shaking with it.

"No, this is purely a pleasure outing."

"Oh, okay." Our drinks arrive and I take a moment to study Jonathon while he speaks with the waiter. His hair is dark and cut short. His eyes are an almost golden brown and he has a gorgeous smile. All in all, he has a magnificent architecture and yet he seems quite modest.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?" I stumble out of what must have been quite an obvious ogling to realize he was talking to me. "Sorry, what was that?" I can feel blush filling my cheeks.

"I just was noticing that you're a Cannons fan," he says smiling plucking at his Puddlemere jersey. "That must be tough."

"Ha ha," I narrow my eyes, glaring at him playfully. "We'll see who's laughing at the end of the match," I declare and promptly turn my attention to the pitch where the players are warming up.

"Want to make a bet of it?" he asks, gaining my attention again.

"Sure," I say confidently although I'm quite sure the Cannons haven't won a match in decades. "What will it be?"

"Loser buys winner a drink?" he offers.

"Sounds fine to me." We clink our glasses and I resign myself to buying him a drink later on.

A small group of Puddlemere supporters join us in the box and the match begins. We watch in near silence for the first ten minutes of the match and Puddlemere is up 40-0 when Jonathon leans back in chair and smirks at me.

"So why are you a Cannons fan?" he asks with sincerity.

"Well, I'm Muggleborn, so I didn't even know about Quidditch until first year. My best friend from Hogwarts is a huge Cannons supporter so I guess I just took that as the team to support. Little did I know they were so horrible." I laugh. "But I guess over the years, it just stuck. Why do you support Puddlemere?"

"My gramps played chaser for them in the 50's and 60's so it's a family thing." He says glancing back as a group of Cannons fans enter the box.

I sink back into my seat and sip my Firewhisky with lemon. Jonathon fidgets nervously next to me for a moment before he slips his hand into mine. The notion quickly reminds me of the romantic implications of a date and I become nervous but I don't withdraw my hand from his because in all honesty, it feels quite nice. I glance out of the corner of my eye at him and he's smiling and I do too.

We chat and watch the match and its 130-60 an hour in. Jonathon blatantly avoids asking questions about the war which I'm grateful for, but I can tell he's curious.

"Hermione Granger?" A voice says from behind us and I turn in my seat to see who it is. A young man with a camera hanging around his neck is standing behind my chair.

"Dennis? Dennis Creevey?" I ask standing and moving around to greet him with a hug. "How've you been? I haven't seen you since the re-opening!"

"I've been good," he says blushing a bit.

"I see you've taken up your brother's hobby," I say quietly motioning to his camera.

"Yeah," he drops his head. "Well, I was wondering if I could get a photo of you, I'm interning at _The Daily Prophet_ and..."

"Of course, Dennis. Um, will it be published?"

"No, it's just an assignment for interns."

"Hey there, Creevey, working hard?" Jonathon has turned in his seat and is grinning at Dennis.

"Oh, h-hello, Mr. Pierce," he mumbles shyly and clears his throat and motions for me to sit. "Would you like to be in the photo too, Mr. Pierce?"

"Sure, and please, call me Jonathon," he says kindly and drapes his arm across my shoulders and Jonathon points to the Puddlemere logo on his jersey and gives me a thumbs down, I just shake my head and smile.

"Thanks, guys! Enjoy the rest of the match." He hurries off out of the box.

"So how do you know Dennis? The _Prophet_?" I ask after watching the match for a few minutes, it's now 240-90.

"Yeah, he's doing a photographer's internship so he works with the sports department a lot."

Suddenly, the crowd erupts. The Cannons fans in the box are jumping about and shouting wildly. One of them runs over to me and pulls me into a crushing hug.

"We've done it! We've done it! We tied!" he shouts in my ear spins me in circles then runs back to his friends. Jonathon grabs my arm laughing.

"Are you okay?"

"I think I might be sick," I laugh holding my head to stop it from spinning.

"I've never seen someone so excited for a tie before! Come on let's get out of here before the madness ensues." He takes my hand and leads me out to an Apparating point and asks if I want to head to the Broomsticks for a drink. I agree—but just one—and then we're off.


	11. Thinking of You

"Since a tie is apparently a win for the Cannons I suppose I owe you a drink," Jonathon comments as I pass through the door he's holding open.

"That's not necessary, I can buy my own drink, a tie's a tie in my book," I smile back at him and lead the way up to the bar, stopping short when I catch sight of the backs of two red-haired heads. I try to play off my hesitation and head to the far end of the bar. We pull up two stools and Jonathon orders two Firewhisky's with lemon, and gives the barman money before I can even protest.

I glance across the bar to find George and Ron, the latter staring at me intently while George animatedly waves his hands around talking non-stop. I quickly look away and place my full attention on Jonathon who is giving me a sort of play by play of the match.

"You know I really can understand why Cannons supporters are so excited, I mean it's a miracle they tied!" he laughs into his glass. "No offense, of course, I'm just saying…"

"None taken, honestly." I sip my drink and we sit in silence for a moment. "Oh, I was meaning to ask you, how did you choose the name for your owl? It couldn't be Fitzgerald?"

"Yeah, it is actually. My mum is Muggleborn and _The Great Gatsby_ was her favorite when she was younger. And I actually quite enjoyed it myself."

"That's really wonderful, Fitzgerald was really an amazing writer, I read that story for the first time when I was eight and I could read it a million times over!"

"You read _Great Gatsby_ when you were _eight?_" he looks at me incredulously and I feel a blush creeping onto my cheeks.

"Yes, well I learned to read when I was quite young and nothing really satisfied me and so I continued to read books of a higher and higher level until I was challenged," I try to explain, feeling very nerdy.

"I think that's absolutely amazing. Cynthia told me you were smart but apparently that doesn't even begin to explain it!" I smile shyly at him, not really knowing what to say and take another sip of my drink. I look over at where Ron and George are sitting and George is grasping Ron's arm and talking in his ear. Then George looks over at me, smiles and waves and I suddenly get the feeling that they're talking about me but I wave back.

"Friends of yours?" Jonathon asks.

"Yes, that's George and Ron Weasley."

"Yeah, well I know who Ron is of course because of the war…and I figured the other must be a Weasley too. Would you like to go over and say hello?" he asks politely and starts to stand. I grab his arm and pull him back down in the seat.

"No! No, its okay. Actually I should probably get going," I glance at my watch, and not even taking in what time it is, I say, "it's getting late." Jonathon eyes me curiously and looks at his own watch.

"It's 7 o'clock…" he says. "Stay for one more drink?" he flashes me a brilliant smile and I almost can't say no.

"No, really I should get going," I say shooting a glance over in Ron's direction, suddenly desperate to get out of here before he comes over.

"Is because of Ron?" Jonathon asks leaning close. "I know you two had a bit of a falling out…"

I take a moment to decide whether or not to tell the truth.

"You know, actually it is Ron. I'm sorry, I don't mean to just run out like this but I can't…I just…" I trail off not really knowing how to explain.

"It's fine, look," he brings his glass to his lips and tips it back, draining the remainder, and I do the same. "Would you like to come by my flat? Just for a moment, I have something that you might like."

"What is it?"

"Well," he says standing and handing me my jacket. "When I was in my sixth year at Hogwarts, I used to write out articles about all of the House matches, I knew I wanted to write Quidditch from a young age. And so when Potter swallowed the snitch in the Cup Tournament I got this photograph of the three of you and it's really quite funny." He laughs and I'm mesmerized at how genuine and lovely it sounds and I can't help but smile and agree.

As we walk along the bar towards the door Ron reaches out and grabs my hand, and without really realizing it I grab Jonathon's with my other.

"Hey, Hermione," Ron pastes a smile that I know isn't authentic and a wave of guilt washes over me.

"Hello, Ron. Hi, George. Um, this is Jonathon Pierce. Jonathon, this is Ron and George Weasley." Jonathon drops my hand to shake theirs.

"Nice shirt Hermione! Ron tells me you were at the game as well! I didn't realize you were such a big fan." He grins mischievously at me and it takes all of my will power no to glare at him.

"Well, we were just leaving, so I'll see you around." I announce trying and failing not to look Ron in the eye.

"Yeah, see you 'round," he says, his gaze burning a hole in my heart.

"It was nice to meet you guys!" Jonathon says cheerfully and takes hold of my hand and leads me out. "You don't have to come over if you don't want to, I can show you the photo some other time…"

"No, it's fine. I'm fine. I would love to see it." I force a smile and he Side-Along Apparates us to his flat.

"Um, have a seat," he motions to the sofa in the spacious living room. "I'll just go grab the photo. Would you like a drink? I don't know if I have any lemon…" The sound of glasses clinking sounds from behind me and I turn to see he has a bar in his sitting room.

"Sure, that's fine. This is a gorgeous flat!"

"Thanks," he comes around and hands me my drink and I can tell he's blushing. "It took many years to be able to afford this." We cheers and he heads off down the hall to find the photo and I find myself sitting alone in this man's living room. Suddenly I remember how new this is to me and I become slightly nervous.

He walks down the hall towards me with a silly grin on his face, plops down next to me on the couch and hands me an old photograph. I immediately laugh when I look at it. Harry is in the dead center surrounded by Gryffindors and he's holding the snitch high above his head with a hilarious look of amazement and confusion etched on his face and Ron runs into the photo laughing and shouting and high-fives Harry and they laugh together. Then I appear at the very edge of the photo. I'm smiling and I move closer to the boys but then I step back and I just stand there on the edge of the photo and smile at them.

"Potter's face is just classic! And Weasley looks like he might explode!" he says grinning. "But what gets me about this photo is from what I recall, the three of you were practically best friends right from the off, so why didn't you go to them?"

"We weren't best friends. Not yet anyways," I say quietly watching the photo replay over and over. "I didn't really have any friends for most of first year. Ron and Harry, they tolerated me, and I followed them around because that was the closest thing I'd ever had to friends. They didn't like me at first, especially Ron. To them, and everyone else for that matter, I was just a bushy-haired, buck-toothed know-it-all. They only kept me around to help them do their homework. I mean obviously eventually we became friends, real friends, but not then." I explain, pointing at the picture. "That's why I didn't go to them, I didn't want to ruin their moment."

Jonathon places his hand under my chin and gently turns my face towards his.

"Anyone who can't see how lovely you are from the moment they meet you must be completely daft," he says softly and slowly leans in towards me. Our lips meet and my eyes flutter shut and I feel as if I'm melting into him. The kiss is gentle, as if he's trying to prove what he said just moment's ago. As his lips slide along mine the pain of my early friendless childhood seeps away and is replaced with a need to be closer…

My arms reach up of their own accord and wrap around his neck and he pulls me as flush as we can get in this position before he apparently decides it's not enough. The mild pressure of his body against mine urges me to lean back and, fueled by the Firewhisky, I oblige bringing his body down on top of me. The kiss intensifies and he weaves one hand into my hair and the other slides down the side of my body resting on my upper thigh. He squeezes and then glides his hand back up my body ever so slowly before it comes to a stop just below my bra. His thumb begins to trace the under wire of my bra, every couple of strokes he grazes my breast and the feeling is _electric_ and I want more. I want to feel his hands on my skin again. He shifts his hips and suddenly he's positioned between my legs and I reach up to run my hands through his fiery red hair and I vaguely wonder why it's so short. He discreetly slides his hand under the hem of my shirt and makes his way up my stomach to cup my breast and I notice his skin is not nearly as rough as before. I arch my chest and move my hips to make for a better connection and a moan escapes his lips and my eyes shoot open at the sound, because the voice isn't familiar and in an instant I'm dragged back to reality. My fingers are not twined in red hair. It's not Ron pressed so intimately against me. This is not Ron.

"Wait," I pant, gently pushing against Jonathon's chest.

"Oh, shit," he jumps off of my body so quickly one might think I burned him. "I'm sorry, Hermione, I didn't mean—I got carried away—shit, I'm sorry—,"

"It's okay," I say as I sit up and adjust my shirt. "It's fine, it's not your fault," I try to assure him and I can feel tears burning behind my eyes as I gather my things. "I'm just going to go," I say reaching down to pick up the forgotten photograph from the floor and I try to hand it to him but he insists I keep it.

"Really, please don't worry about that," I motion to the couch. "I just can't…do this. It really has nothing to do with you personally." I'm backing towards the door silently begging the tears not to fall, not yet.

"Okay," he says sullenly. "I understand. Um, have a good evening." He leans in and kisses my cheek and a single tear escapes before I turn on the spot and Apparate outside of my flat.

"Hermione!" I spin around there's Ron. The dam breaks and the tears spill down my face. "What happened? What did he do to you?" Ron's suddenly angry and his hands are on my shoulders.

"Nothing! He didn't do anything, he was a gentleman," I choke out fumbling for my keys before remembering that I'm a witch and I let myself in leaving the door open in an invitation for Ron to follow.

"Then what happened? Why are you crying?" he closes the door behind him.

I don't quite know how to explain that I got carried away with Jonathon, all the while imagining Ron in his place, so I don't answer. I don't want him to see the longing and pain in my eyes so I turn and make my way into the kitchen. Guilt is radiating throughout my body in waves as I shakily make a pot of tea. I push my palms into my eyes trying to stop the tears from falling and I can hear Ron approaching cautiously.

"Hermione," he says quietly and places his hand on my shoulder gently turning me to face him. I drop my hands and tilt my head to look him in the eye, suddenly not caring what he can see in mine. He brushes his thumb across my cheek and I can't help but lean into his palm. A fresh wave of tears escape and without listening to my mind screaming 'no', I rise up on my toes and kiss him.


	12. Dragons, Magic, and Love

**A/N: I'd like to apologize for the long wait for this chapter. Life decided to get in the way and I just had no time to complete/edit it. =( Anyways, here it is, I hope you enjoy it. And I'll try not to take so long next time. Oh, and thank you for the reviews and favorites, it makes me feel special =)**

The kiss lasts for an eternity and no time at all. His lips move urgently against mine and memories piled upon fantasies fill my brain to the bursting point. And just when I think I might explode from it all Ron pulls away and holds me at arm's length.

"Hermione," he pauses, just staring at me. "Is this what you want? Because if it's not…" he trails off, his eyelids floating closed.

I swallow deeply and step away.

"I don't know what I want anymore, Ron." This is a lie. I _do_ know exactly what I want. And the answer is _yes_, I want Ron Weasley. But I also want fairy tales. I want a Prince Charming. I want happily ever after. I've dreamed of it my whole life. What Muggle little girl hasn't? I suppose the real question is: what Muggle little girl doesn't grow up to see that the real world isn't a fairy tale? What sane girl expects everything to be picture perfect?

"I'm sorry Ron. I shouldn't have done that, it was foolish. I need some time to think."

"Hermione, I don't know what happened with that bloke tonight but if you want to talk about it, I'm here for you, whatever you need. I could go kick the shit out of him—,"

"Ron."

"Okay! I'm just saying! Whatever you need."

"I'm fine. Like I said, he was very kind."

He takes my hand and pulls me closer.

"Hermione. I love you, I'll do anything it takes. Please. Tell me I'm what you want. Tell me you don't want Jacob or whatever his name is." His pleading eyes are so sad and I want to shout that I love him too just to take away his pain. Instead I just close my eyes and feel his hand holding mine and pretend for a moment that everything is how it used to be.

"I can't," I whisper. "I have to think, Ron. I just have to be sure that you're not going to do this to me again." I reluctantly pull my hand from his.

"Hermione, I won't—,"

"Stop, Ron. Don't tell me you won't hurt me again. Because you've told me that before and I believed you. I _believed_ you Ron! And look where I've ended up! In a flat, alone! I'm _alone_ here, and it's your fault! All because of your empty promises and your stupid sad eyes and Harry-it's his fault too! Oh, Ron's _sorry_ and he _means_ it and just forgive him, Hermione because he _needs_ you!"

I'm shouting and rambling and waving my arms around and Ron's staring at me like I'm a lunatic. Finally I give up and just let tears stream down my face in pure frustration and embarrassment.

"Just, go home, Ron."

"Wait, Hermione, can't we just—,"

"Ronald. Go. Home."

"Um, alright…are you sure you're okay Hermione?" he looks concerned and a little frightened and I feel absolutely terrible.

"Yes, I'm fine."

"Okay, g'night, then." He stares at me for a long moment before he Disapparates.

The popping sound of his departure echoes throughout my flat for seconds while I stand idly in the living room. The silence rains down on me heavily and my shoulders slump with the weight of it.

What have I done? What kind of twisted game am I playing at? How many men can Hermione Granger trick in one evening? Poor Jonathon. I'm evil and- and sick. I cannot believe I was actually imagining Ron while Jonathon…and then to _attack_ Ron like that…I've lost my bloody mind.

I throw myself into Crookshanks' armchair and drop my head into my hands, allowing more tears to fall. I begin to question my motives in keeping myself from Ron, or rather, keeping Ron from me. What am I waiting for? Why am I torturing both of us? With the flavor of his lips still burning on mine it's difficult to answer these questions.

Crookshanks saunters in the room and squawks at me, rubbing his body against my leg before jumping into my lap. As I scratch his back I try to be rational.

Ron physically removed me from his life. He left me. Again. I'm quite positive Prince Charming's don't break hearts, especially over and over again. Okay, wait, we're being rational here, hearts don't break, Hermione. They just don't. They stay whole and healthy and you're fine. Ronald Weasley has not and cannot physically damage your heart.

Right.

Crooks rubs his face on mine and I smooth the fur on his neck and he settles in my lap. Maybe I'm destined to be alone. I would have never thought—well, before I began attending primary school—I would have never thought that I wouldn't end up with a happily ever after.

When I first began reading it was all fairy tales and children's stories about dashing princes and the princesses they save from great danger. And while I wasn't one to believe in dragons and magic, I believed in love. The fairy tale is a fictional story that conceals the hidden truth that everyone gets to love someone, and everyone, in turn, gets to be loved. But maybe I've had my chance already, and maybe I blew it.

But what if Ron could still be my happily ever after and I haven't quite ruined it yet? Or maybe the problem is that I still believe that happily ever after even exists. Why should it? How can I so readily dismiss fairy tales, but allow the ending to survive?

Because I so desperately want it to. And if my life is any indication, anything is possible.

"Ginny, I just don't know what to do!"

"Relax, Hermione, don't get your knickers in a twist! You say you love Ron, so what're you waiting for? And don't give me that shit about protecting your heart, you know that's a bunch of rubbish."

"It's not rubbish, it's—,"

"It's rubbish, Hermione. You love him, he loves you, end of story. He's sorry and he's practically kissing the ground you walk on, what more do you need from him? I mean, don't get me wrong, Ron's a prat and I don't mind watching him grovel every once and a while but it's starting to make me sick. So do us all a favor and just forgive him and take him back."

I don't know how to respond so I just cross my arms over my chest and try to remember my counter argument.

I can't.

"Oh, and Harry swiped a copy of tomorrow's _Prophet_. He thought you may want to see it before everyone else does."

She hands me the paper and I take it tentatively.

I'm almost not surprised to see my name and the photograph of Jonathon and I on the front page. I sigh and skim the article. The headline reads : "Hermione 'Heartbreaker' Granger Hits Again". It goes on to detail my love life all the way back to fourth year when I 'broke Harry Potter's heart'. The article focuses on the current love triangle of Jonathon, Ron, and I, and how vicious I am for toying with men's hearts.

"Harry thinks that Skeeter is either writing under an alias or getting someone to publish her dirty work as their own. He's already got some people investigating. But he couldn't get the _Prophet_ to pull the article. I'm really sorry, Hermione."

"Lovely." I mumble and drop my head into my hands.

I'm really looking forward to going to work tomorrow.


	13. Biscuits and Beginnings

When I arrive at the Ministry, I find that I'm holding my breath for no reason. Either people are going out of their way to act normally around me, or simply nobody cares about my love life anymore. I desperately hope the latter is the case.

I make it through lunch without incident, when there's a knock on my office door.

"Come in," I call from my desk, unlocking the door with a flick of my wand.

The door opens and Jonathon enters, shadowed by Dennis Creevey, who is avoiding my gaze as if I were a basilisk.

"How're you holding up?" Jonathon asks, dropping into a chair in front of my desk.

"Actually, I'm fine, I'm quite used to this kind of thing by now, and this really wasn't so bad." I motion towards the paper sitting on my desk.

"I'm sorry Ms. Granger! I didn't mean to get the photo published! It was just an assignment, I swear, I didn't know!" Dennis is still cowering by the office door, his wide eyes pleading almost comically.

"Dennis, please! I place no blame with you, calm down, it's not your fault." I chuckle trying to convey my sincerity in a smile. I think it works because a look of sheer relief floods his face and he mumbles 'thank you' over and over as he backs out of my office.

"So how are you? Are they giving you a hard time?" I ask Jonathon.

"No, not really," he replies blushing a bit. "You know, I wanted to apologize again for the other night, it was rather foolhardy of me to behave like that."

"Jonathon, like I said on Saturday, it wasn't your fault, I'm the one who should apologize, I shouldn't have led you on in such a way. I had a wonderful time but I knew I wasn't ready for a relationship and I…"

"Ah, but I think you _are_ ready. I'm just not the right one." He picks up the photograph he gave me of Ron, Harry, and I that I've framed and put on my desk. "Don't throw away something like that." He hands me the picture and stands.

"Jonathon, I—"

"You know, Hermione you're situation has actually inspired me to try to get back something that used to make me happy, you should do the same." He smiles at me and with a wink he leaves my office. I stand and curiously follow him out.

He's standing in front of Cynthia's office having just knocked. The door swings open and without a moment's hesitation Jonathon leans down and kisses her. Her eyes go wide in surprise before they float closed and a grin appears on her face just before she drags them inside her office and slams the door.

I stand in the corridor for a moment baffled before I slowly turn and walk inside my office, closing the door and leaning against it. My hands still grasp the photograph and I look down at it. I almost wish for those days, the young and somewhat innocent days when Ron Weasley was just my friend. But then again, he never was _just_ a friend. He was one of my first friends, and then he was my best friend. And then…well, he was Ron. He can never be _just_ anything.

Suddenly, the door opens behind me and I nearly fall over.

"You alright, Hermione?" I turn gathering my balance to see a very amused Ginny.

"Fine, thank you."

"I just wanted to invite you to Victorie's birthday party at the Burrow this Saturday." She says snatching a lemon drop from the bowl on my desk.

"Wow, is she one already?"

She nods, mouth full of candy.

"Okay, yeah I'll be there, what time?"

"Lunch is at two. See ya," she grabs a handful of candy on her way out.

I take a piece myself and sit at my desk and look again at the photo. My heart flutters at the joy on Ron's face and I find myself grinning at the boy who had my heart from the day we met.

Saturday arrives and I Apparate to the Burrow. I haven't been here in over a year and yet it seems nothing has changed. The meadow is still overgrown, the occasional gnome poking its head out of the tall grass. The door to the kitchen stands open and the delicious smell of Molly's cooking has drawn a crowd of Weasley men so close to the doorway that Molly comes out swinging a hand towel at them, shooing them like birds. They scatter and take up positions in the yard, yet not too far from the kitchen. I laugh to myself noticing Ron is closest to the door and he's inched nearly halfway inside when he spots me across the yard. A silly grin crops up on his face and his long strides allow him to reach me in seconds.

"Hello," he says as he pulls me into a hug. I breathe deeply and he smells so…Ron...that I almost don't let go.

I clear my throat, "Hello, Ron."

"Lunch is ready!" Molly calls from the kitchen and a red-headed stampede breaks out and suddenly I'm standing alone in the yard, I look around and figure I may as well head in.

Lunch is a loud and lovely affair. I have to hold back tears when Molly pulls me into a crushing hug and whispers how glad she is that I'm back. Everyone laughs and jokes with me like I've been at the Burrow every Sunday.

After lunch is presents for Victorie who really doesn't care for much but the wrappings and Teddy isn't much help. The two youngsters get caught up in a game where Victorie places a piece of wrapping on her head and Teddy turns his hair color to match and she squeals with laughter and soon the presents are long forgotten even by the adults.

I wander into the kitchen to see if there are any dishes left over to be washed, but they're all in the sink washing themselves. So I make myself a cup of tea and walk into the pantry to see if there's any biscuits to go with the sweet flavor. I spot them on the top shelf and even on my tip-toes I can't reach them. I briefly contemplate climbing the shelves before I realize that I am in fact a witch and I turn to fetch my wand where I left it on the table when I walk straight into someone's chest.

"Oh, sorry!" I look up and of course, it's Ron. He's got that look on his face like he's trying really hard not to laugh at me and I narrow my eyes at him in a warning.

"What are you doing in here?" He asks amused.

"I was getting some biscuits. To go with my tea." I state matter-of-factly.

"And…where are these biscuits?"

I glare at him for a moment before answering, "up there."

He reaches up and grabs the bag of biscuits. "You mean these?" He smirks at me and jiggles the bag up high.

"Yes. Those precisely. May I have them, please before my tea goes cold?"

"You haven't forgotten again that you're a witch, have you?"

I jump up and try to snatch the bag from him but he only holds them higher. I give him my best glare and reach for the door to get my wand from the kitchen when I hear Harry's voice.

"Ginny, can I talk to you, in private for a moment?"

"Sure, Harry, is something wrong?"

I turn around to signal Ron to be quiet but he already is and he's listening in an anxious silence. His expression worries me and I begin to wonder what could be wrong with Harry.

"Nothing's wrong it's just…" he coughs and is silent for a moment. "Ginny, I love you so much. I've never had anything like you and…and today's the third year since…well, everything. And three years ago I never thought I'd see you, let alone be with you ever again, and well, here you are. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I never want to feel that way again. So…marry me?"

My hand flies up to my mouth and tears spring to my eyes.

"Oh, Harry…of course I'll marry you!"

"Really?"

"Yes, really, are you mad?" She laughs then he laughs and I nearly laugh too.

"Oh, it's beautiful, Harry."

There's a moment of near silence in which I'm positive the two aren't just standing there looking at each other. Then Ginny's voice breaks it.

"Should we tell everybody?"

"I want to tell Ron and Hermione first, then we can tell everyone else. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, let's go find them!" The sound of their footsteps quietly recede out of the kitchen.

"Hermione."

I slowly turn to face Ron in the small pantry.

"I don't want to feel that way anymore either."

Images of Malfoy Manor, and Ron walking out on Harry and I, and Godric's Hollow, all flash in my mind. And all I can remember in this moment is not the pain of the Cruciatis Curse, and it's not the feeling of desertion, it's the pain I experienced when I thought he would never know how I felt. And my heart surges with it, and I don't ever want to feel like that again.

"Neither do I." I whisper.

At the same moment we step towards each other and our lips meet. It's sloppy, wet with tears, but it's also perfect, and promising.

**A/N: Thank you again to everyone who read this story, it's my first real fic and it makes me feel really good to know that people liked it, or at least gave it a chance.**

**The seed of this story was planted by Katy Perry's 'Thinking of You'. The chapter of the same name was the core idea of the story, everything else just came along as it pleased, so if you'd like to listen to it, may I recommend looking it up on YouTube, try her unplugged version. =)**


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